076

This isn’t, “arty,” in the sense, of two midgets, carrying suitcases. Everything in this city, is plastic, even the, tree’s. Step one, is write the, script! It becomes, more, and more, difficult, to move, the older, we get. The tricks, that (they’re, tilting) they keep pulling, on us, don’t work, anymore. Well, you really, blew it, this time, motherfucker. I ran out, on myself, I decided, if it can be, called that, not to be, who I was, anymore. It’s a scam, this new thing, of doing stuff, out of order, it is an optical illusion, that surely, hasn’t led, to any, great, new, metamorphosis. Why do I bother, waking up? Give me the cans of beans, that you threw, in the garbage. Try not to talk about your penises, or, vaginas, so much, and I’ll try, to do the, same, now, I will hurt, myself. The love of comfort, is what really, kills us, all. There can never be, any celebrating, because, there is nothing to, celebrate. Throw your arms, up into the air, and try to spread your fingers, out. Are you talking, some, Christian, business? All the old bulldozers (cover some, ground), went to work. They used to make fans, out of paper. Shine, just, shine. The lettuce, is a practical, sort, of, sculpture, with, hardness/dryness. Do, remain, gallant. It’s not done, it never, is, it might not, ever, be… Shit, it takes a…the war, has started. They have, pushed in, faces. They used a ball, as opposed to, explosives. Turquoise eyes, forbidden love. The tension, is a tool, we invent, for ourselves, and think, were using, while, all the while, it’s, using, us. Your, two, brains, are crushed up, together, as if, one? You can’t let them, do, that. Here’s to, hoping, that this takes us, somewhere. The lost, and the scared, are gone, and there is no hope, for them. The prism, in the kitchen, where did it, go? So much, shame, too much, suffering. One thing, doesn’t quite, connect, with the next one, these shoes, are of a, lightweight, variety, the corn, is being boiled. Doctor, I have lost the use, of my arms, and I need, your help. We did the sleepover, thing. Ha, ha, ha, we fake, we pretend, we act. I feel like a fraternity brother, that did something, so sickening, and nasty (that wasn’t, expected), that he was promptly, told not, to, to, stop it. The myriad, of tongues, need to be taken, back. Why the hell, did he, ask to read it? No hot cocoa, for you, asshole! Well, sometimes, you don’t even think, that things, are missing, then, you look, later, and there they, are, in a different, form, already. The sausages, were organized, into a prefect, square. The teeth, get ground down, into stubs. It only looks like, coffee, was spilled, on the alarm clock, in actuality, it’s saliva. The pleasant things, and sublime, contented, moments, come to an end, somewhere, along the line. The drinking, has gone overboard, from time, to time. The first step, is to get there, to blow bubbles. Women, that sound like, women, aren’t interested, in impressing, or, offending, you. The clue, is to hide behind, your press pass, and false eyelashes. Just another ginty/gleep, with their ass, too close, to the face, of a hungry, man. If you don’t dream, or, can’t remember, them, you’re in trouble. The chicken imitation, wasn’t as sexy, as the crowd, was hoping, it would, be. The shame, of not being able to hold, your own, leads to, so many, abject, disappointments, so many, lost, possibilities. There is no answer, there are no facts, nothing, equals, or, equates, to anything, else (fuck it). Create a system, try anything, start at the bottom, and work towards, the top, do, whatever, works. My flighty, frivolous, life, is on a downturn, now. It’s more of a desperate effort, now, even though, more, is getting done, now, than, what, used to, it’s still, not enough, considering, how far we’ve still, got to, go. No way, that I’m going to allow, something, so unwholesome, as mixed nuts, to ruin, my life, cause me, such pain, and horror. The kind of animals, that we, are, can’t, or, won’t, allow us, to maintain, complete, control, in the most stressful, of conditions. The talk, of the, “tough guy,” is just an act, some people, put on. The company, will hire, another, dipshit. How do they expect us, to keep this product, preserved? It’s so, numb/dumb. Everything, should be, a different, way. It’s (sho, ‘nuff) unbearable… All those terrible things, that I used to, do… Made me, who I, am.